


The Observer Effect

by thingswithwings



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: But In the Fic It's Just Sort of Fluffy, Coitus Interruptus, Exhibitionism, Exposure, Humiliation, It's Really a Very Cute and Fluffy Panopticon Police State, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Non-Consensual Surveillance, Objectively Creepy Levels of Surveillance and Control, Paperwork, Sex Permits, Though Eventually Coitus Managed, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos suspects, deep down, that this is a crucial aspect of the town's strangeness, the way that people and objects change while watching, while being watched; that he could know everything about Night Vale if he could just know this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Observer Effect

**Author's Note:**

> For my obedience/disobedience square on my KB card, although I think most people would rightly note that it belongs more firmly in voyeurism.
> 
> And I know, I know, canonically Cecil has an apartment. I couldn't help it; it was funnier this way.

Cecil holds his hand all through dinner, his fingers stroking slow and soft along Carlos's palm, his knuckles, below the base of his thumb. He doesn't let go when their food – strangely pastel colored but not bleeding this time, and undeniably delicious – arrives at the table, so Carlos doesn't let go either. He watches Cecil manage his fork with his left hand and wonders if he's ambidextrous; feels the slow caress of Cecil's fingertips and wonders if he can multitask like that in other situations.

Carlos has never been very good at signals, or body language, or any language really, but the soft sensual press of Cecil's hand to his is pretty unmistakable, he thinks. He's almost sure. So, greatly daring, he shifts in his seat and presses his ankle to Cecil's under the table.

The first reaction that Carlos observes is the contraction of muscles in Cecil's throat as he swallows hard, and it's followed by a flurry of other reactions: the barely-perceptible reddening of Cecil's cheeks, the slow blink of his eyes, the way the fork in his hand pauses in its trajectory.

Carlos rubs his ankle slowly against Cecil's ankle and even through layers of clothes Cecil's skin feels hot, soft, yielding. After a long moment, Cecil presses back, and they eat with those two points of contact live between them. Carlos can imagine, and probably Night Vale could provide, pulses of energy traveling back and forth between them through the hot tingling places where they're joined.

"Is this okay?" Carlos murmurs, letting his thumb slide against Cecil's thumb and his leg slide against Cecil's leg.

Cecil clears his throat. "Yeah. Yes," he says, and his voice is husky.

They don't get dessert.

*

When they get back to Cecil's house, a neat and slightly lopsided bungalow in the suburbs, Cecil fidgets for a moment in the passenger seat of Carlos's car.

"I – if you'd like, you could come in," he says. Carlos hears the breathlessness in his voice and feels a sudden deep pang of desire for him, a desire to put him even more out of breath. Their first date had been so sweet, buzzing shadow invasion notwithstanding, but between then and now it's like a switch got flipped somewhere and the attraction between them escalated into something hotter, more carnal. He wants Cecil, suddenly, in a way he hasn't wanted anyone in a long time. It's a nice sort of surprise.

Carlos thinks about it: imagines himself stripping Cecil's shirt off, shoving his hand down his pants to fist his cock, imagines himself spread and sweating above Cecil, or under him, the hot press of Cecil's thighs and the soft wetness of his mouth. He licks his lips.

Cecil fidgets some more and adds, "I know it's only our second date, but I – I mean, we can just have coffee or, or I have some orange milk – "

Leaning over the gearshift Carlos takes Cecil's mouth, and all of Cecil's hesitance dissolves in an instant as he opens for Carlos's tongue. His strong broad hands come up to hold Carlos's face and grip his hair. Carlos lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched little moaning noise, which makes Cecil giggle and pull away slightly, wiping the spit from his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"I could really go for some orange milk," Carlos says, smiling and out of breath.

Cecil laughs properly at that, full-throated and maybe a little giddy, and it makes Carlos feel light on his feet as he exits the car, like a dancer or something, like he could just take off into the air. He makes a mental note to check his weight against his mass later, just in case there's some kind of localized gravity distortion field, but for the moment he basks in the feeling, taking Cecil's hand and kissing his neck as they walk up the sidewalk, as Cecil fumbles out his housekeys and mutters the incantation that makes the keyhole appear, as they finally tumble through the door and close it behind themselves.

Before Carlos can press him against the wall, though, Cecil squirms out of his grasp and makes for what Carlos presumes to be the kitchen area. 

"Orange milk, you said?" Cecil calls over his shoulder.

Carlos adjusts his labcoat – it's his sexiest one, he's pretty sure – and follows slowly, peeking his head around the corner.

"Actually, tea would be great." The orange milk is surprisingly good, but Carlos doesn't think he'd like to kiss someone who's been drinking it.

Cecil nods, quick and tense, then throws a tight smile over his shoulder at Carlos. Carlos shuffles his feet; they seem to have lost the mood, though he can't tell where it went or how to generate it again: results difficult to replicate. Initial hypothesis suddenly in doubt. He watches, helplessly, as Cecil joylessly tickles the side of his kettle to get it started, then pulls out a box of local tea, the kind harvested in the Scrublands that doesn't cause boils or lesions. Cecil knows that Carlos likes it because Carlos always orders it at Big Rico's, and Cecil always pays attention to what Carlos likes.

"Too fast?" Carlos blurts out. 

"What?"

"We were going too fast?"

Cecil turns his attention away from the kettle, which prevents the water from coming to a boil. "No, no, I – " he sighs. "I better watch the kettle if I want it to boil," he says, apologetically, but he reaches his hand out towards Carlos. Carlos takes it hesitantly, twining their fingers together, holding Cecil's hand and helping him stare at the kettle to speed up the process.

There's something that happens in Night Vale sometimes, when phenomena he would associate with quantum systems – like the uncertainty principle – seem to exist in classical objects, as part of peoples' daily lives, so that interacting with a kettle produces a noticeably different result than leaving the kettle alone. Carlos suspects, deep down, that this is a crucial aspect of the town's strangeness, the way that people and objects change while watching, while being watched; that he could know everything about Night Vale if he could just know this.

"What are you thinking about?" Cecil asks softly.

"The observer effect," Carlos murmurs. Cecil squeezes his hand.

When the tea is ready, redolent of pine and butterscotch, they head back to the living room and settle on the couch; Carlos is careful not to be pushy, but Cecil cuddles up right next to him and tucks his head under Carlos's arm.

"Tell me about your science," he murmurs. His hair is soft where it brushes against Carlos's neck; Carlos toys idly with the end of the ponytail for a moment until Cecil reaches back and pulls the elastic out, letting the dark strands pool over his shoulders. Tentatively, Carlos runs his fingers through it. Cecil sighs. Carlos repeats the action, slowly falling into a rhythm, and it's nice.

So, maybe Cecil just wants to cuddle; Carlos can deal with that. 

"Um, there's not much new this week, actually," he says. Cecil rubs his fingers idly against Carlos's knee, pinching the material of his slacks between two fingers. "We're still doing DNA sequencing on the clocks. We got a grant to purchase Old Woman Josie's angel-touched lightbulb, so that's exciting. The funds should come through in six to eight weeks." Cecil's hand is slowly finding its way upwards, massaging the big, tense muscle of Carlos's thigh. Carlos tries not to be distracted. "Oh, and I wanted to ask you: is there usually a howling black vortex in the high school gym?"

"Mmm, that's Vanessa," Cecil confirms. Each of his fingers against Carlos's leg inscribes its own separate trail of sensation, a touch and a memory of the touch that went before, up and down, a lingering shiver that echoes down into the deep tissue of his body.

Carlos strokes one finger along Cecil's cheek, down to his chin. He has a scar there, almost invisible, a perfect X-shape, and Carlos hesitates to wonder what it might be from.

"Vanessa's the school mascot," Cecil intones, voice rough and husky, and when he turns his head up to Carlos and kisses him again it feels easy, natural in a way that Carlos has rarely found anything to feel natural in his life. Cecil's mouth is hot and demanding, his teeth sharp against Carlos's lips, and Carlos kisses back appreciatively and spreads his hands around Cecil's waist, which he thinks is pretty gentlemanly. Cecil immediately moans and crawls over into Carlos's lap, which is less gentlemanly but very exciting indeed, so Carlos slowly shifts his hands down to cup Cecil's ass and that's exciting too.

"Carlos," Cecil gasps, between kisses. "Oh, Carlos, I just want to touch you – "

"You can touch me," Carlos reassures him, because it seems like the right thing to say, and Cecil moans into another kiss.

After a few minutes of general groping and fondling Cecil pulls back and starts unbuttoning Carlos's shirt, one button at a time, and running his fingers through Carlos's chest hair. He sticks his tongue between his teeth, concentrating, and his hair falls into his eyes; Carlos is struck with tenderness for him. Reaching up, he tucks a strand of Cecil's hair behind his ear, clearing his vision.

When he's finished unbuttoning Cecil bends down and presses a kiss to Carlos's chest, shyness in his eyes, and Carlos pulls his arms forward out of his sleeves so that he can rub a reassuring thumb against Cecil's cheekbone, down the line of his jaw, cupping his face while he kisses his way down Carlos's sternum.

"You too," Carlos breathes, feeling suddenly shy himself. He toys with the bottom edge of Cecil's tunic and smiles sheepishly. Cecil sits up on Carlos's lap and lifts his arms up so that Carlos can peel it up and off of him – really, objectively, a tunic is very inconvenient as date-wear, he'll have to remind Cecil of that scientific fact sometime – and then he's entirely distracted by the smattering of dark freckles along the brown skin of Cecil's shoulders. He kisses them, letting his teeth dig in a little, and the noise that Cecil makes is gratifying, embarrassing. He does it again, and again, and this time his results are easily replicated, within a reasonable margin of error.

It's a few minutes later, when Carlos is sliding the tips of his fingers under the waistband of Cecil's pants, that Cecil breaks their kiss and rests his forehead on Carlos's shoulder, panting.

"So, I guess you want to have sex, then," he says, and he sounds . . . resigned. Carlos takes his fingertips out of Cecil's pants like it's hot down there, which it kind of is, which he hopes is just natural biodiversity and not some defense mechanism, and frowns.

"No!" he blurts suddenly, though he knows that his hard-on and the way he's been rubbing up against Cecil for the last minute and a half make that response somewhat ridiculous. "Um. I mean – yes? But not if you don't want to?"

Cecil takes a deep breath and sits back up to face him. 

"We went too fast again, huh? It's okay, Cecil, we don't have to, right now, we don't ever have to, it's . . . I want what you want . . . " He wishes again that he were good with language, with any language at all, because he can't seem to say the right thing to make Cecil feel comfortable.

Cecil sighs in that besotted way that he has and puts his hand in Carlos's hair. "Beautiful, perfect boyfriend Carlos," he hums, and Carlos blushes and pushes his head against Cecil's hand. "I – oh, this is embarrassing."

"What's wrong?" He takes Cecil's hand from his hair and brings it around to his mouth, kisses the palm. He can't help but feel a rush of pleasure when Cecil's eyes darken at the touch.

"I – I mean, I assumed you would – but of course you're new in town, and not used to all our little municipal regulations – "

Carlos's heart metaphorically sinks at the words "municipal regulations," and sinks further as he tries to imagine which aspects of the night's proceedings municipal regulations might apply to.

"I just – it was only our second date, after all, and I didn't think – you were such a _gentleman_ on our first, and that's _charming_ , don't get me wrong, and I do want to have sex with you very much, Carlos, but I just – "

"You didn't get the permits," Carlos hazards, and Cecil nods miserably. Of course there are sex permits in Night Vale. Of course. And here's Carlos, with his shirt off and his dick hard, squirming underneath the sweetest strangest man he's ever met and about to have an orgasm in company for the first time in eight years, caught without his sex permit.

"It just seemed so presumptuous!" 

Carlos buries his face in his hands.

"And I invited you in, I know, I did, but I thought – I thought maybe we'd just kiss and, you know, I already filled out the paperwork for _that_ , and I tried to stop, I really did, but you're just so _lovely_ and I wanted to touch you – " he trails off, fingertips fluttering nervously against Carlos's arms, up to his wrists. Carlos takes his hands away from his face.

"Okay, okay," Carlos says, "that's okay, we can wait for the . . . paperwork to come through." He has a terrible thought. "You don't need a permit for masturbation, do you?" he blurts out. Cecil laughs.

"No, of course not, not if you check the box on your tax form in April." Cecil sobers. "But doing it with someone else in the room isn't classified as masturbation under town statutes, if that's what you're suggesting."

Carlos is momentarily lost for words as he imagines that, Cecil just sitting and watching him while he . . . puts on a show. His whole body feels hot and flushed just thinking about it, and this is not at all helping him deal with the fact that they have to keep it above the waist for the rest of the evening.

"Um, not what I was thinking," he stutters. "But maybe – if there's a form for that – "

"Mmm," Cecil agrees. "I have a stack of forms on my desk. Anything you want." Bending down, he kisses Carlos's chest again, just above the left nipple. Carlos squeezes his shoulder.

"We should stop," he says, eventually. "We should really stop, Cecil, if there's nothing more we can do about it tonight." In another life Carlos is pretty sure he would've thought that it was ridiculous to stop having sex with someone due to municipal regulations, but now he just feels resigned. 

At this Cecil looks up at him for a moment, and then his eyes dart off to the left. He sits back from Carlos's chest and his pursed lips sort of slide over to one side of his face.

"Well. I mean."

"Cecil," Carlos drawls, "is there something we can do?"

"Well. There's the Sheriff's Secret Police, you know. We can get a temporary authorization. It just has to be a joint application."

"So we – go down to the police station?" Carlos frowns. He's never been able to get anyone to tell him where the police station is.

Cecil shakes his head, getting that expression on his face that Carlos knows means 'you are adorable and beautiful and ridiculous.' "No, of course not, I saw Egbert lurking in the bushes when we drove up."

With that he takes Carlos's hand and pulls him to his feet, and before he knows what's going on they're at the front door again and Cecil is opening it up and hissing "Egbert!" at the bushes.

Despite having lived in Night Vale for well over a year now Carlos still jumps and says "Augh!" when a dark figure detaches itself from the junipers and starts moving towards them. He's wearing a leather balaclava and holding a clipboard. He has something in his hand that looks suspiciously like a pen to Carlos, but then he supposes that the Sheriff's Secret Police are probably exempt from city laws. That's why they're secret, he reasons. Meanwhile Carlos is reduced to writing up his science findings with a toothpick and food paste, and to standing on Cecil's porch in the dark, without a shirt, applying for a sex permit.

He shivers and crosses his arms over his chest. The desert nights are cold, and his nipples tighten almost painfully in the cool air. Cecil's not wearing a shirt either, but he seems pretty comfortable with the situation, which Carlos finds annoying.

"Hello, Cecil. Second date going okay?" the dark figure inquires.

"Yes, thank you."

"We have you down for a walk along the edge of town, near the sand wastes, romantic dinner, possible nightcap."

"Yes, that's correct."

Carlos bounces on his toes. He forgot to put on any shoes, and his socks are glaringly white in the incandescent light of the porch. He tries not to meet the Secret Policeman's eyes, mostly because his voice makes him sound about nineteen, and Carlos feels a little weird asking him for permission to have sex. 

"Did you want to apply for a temporary authorization of some kind?" 

"Yes, I thought a 95A – " Cecil begins. 

"Where do I sign?" Carlos interrupts. Both Cecil and the Secret Policeman look taken aback. 

"Uh, right here," Egbert says. "Sign to indicate that you intend to experience mutual orgasms with the abovenamed – "

Carlos feels his face heat. With a trembling hand, he takes the thing that is _totally_ a pen and signs as fast as he can; Cecil looks a bit put out, mouth gaping, but after a moment he signs too, and then they wait an interminable amount of time while Egbert fills out the bottom of the form – the section marked FOR POLICE USE ONLY – and then digs around in his utility belt to find a stamp to use. 

"Ink's a little dry," he says, while Carlos shifts from foot to foot and ignores his still-present hard-on and waves aggressively at one of Cecil's neighbors, who's come out onto her porch to stare at them. Egbert's tongue, dripping and blue with ink, protrudes from the mouth-slit of his leather balaclava. He licks the bottom of the stamp, then makes a face at the taste as he presses it to the paper again. 

"Take this in to City Hall within one week in order to avoid the revocation of future orgasm privileges," Egbert announces in the sing-song tone of someone who's said the same thing a million times over. He tears off the pink carbon copy of the form and hands it to Cecil.

"Thank you, Egbert," Cecil says, and Carlos murmurs a "thank you, Egbert" after him as he hustles Cecil back into the house. This time he does press him up against the door, which makes it rattle against the frame. From outside he can hear a soft laugh in response, which makes him feel angry and embarrassed, makes him want to rattle the door harder and be as quiet as he can, caught between shame and defiance.

Cecil makes a satisfying noise as Carlos kisses him, surprised and hungry, and after a moment Carlos is lost in that, in the slide of Cecil's smooth skin against him, in the scratch of Cecil's fingernails against his shoulders.

"Do you want to, uh," Carlos mutters, between kisses.

"Bedroom's that way," Cecil indicates with his head, and together they stumble in that general direction, Carlos hopping to peel off his socks and Cecil wriggling out of his furry pants before going to work on Carlos's zipper. By the time they get to the bedroom they're both pretty much naked, and although Cecil really does give off a lot more heat than an average human, he doesn't have any parts that Carlos doesn't understand or that might try to eat him, which had been a concern ever since the two biologists on Carlos's team started doing physicals on the Night Vale populace. 

He hasn't been naked in company in a long time, feels awkward and uncomfortable in his bare skin. Once they're sitting on the bed together he bends his head to cover his embarrassment and kisses Cecil's soft belly, licks at his navel, wraps his hand around the head of Cecil's cock and tugs gently. 

Cecil groans, and Carlos sits up and shuffles closer, burying his nose against the fine soft hair at Cecil's neck.

"Oh, Carlos, that's lovely," Cecil is saying, and Carlos can't help but feel a tingle at the way Cecil says his name, the way he always says his name, like it's something beautiful and rare. Seeing himself through Cecil's eyes is always strange and gratifying. He feels like a different person when Cecil looks at him.

"I want you to fuck me," he murmurs against Cecil's ear, and that was pretty good, he thinks, pretty sexy. He aches with wanting it, the sensation of being filled and taken, Cecil's body covering his, Cecil's too-hot skin and his too-sharp teeth taking up his field of vision.

Cecil freezes at the words, though, and Carlos bites his lip in anticipation.

"I – Carlos, dear Carlos, you must know that I – would – love – to – " Cecil's voice catches as Carlos squeezes his dick, speeds up his strokes. 

"But," Carlos sighs, sensing the problem.

"But we didn't get the form for that," Cecil pants. His hands are on Carlos's chest, his shoulders, burying themselves in Carlos's hair to pull him down for a kiss. It's hot and wet and full of biting frustration.

"We got mutual orgasms – " Carlos sighs, knowing it'll do no good.

"It doesn't cover, um." Cecil bites his lip. "Anal penetration," he says, really fast. Carlos frowns.

"That's homophobic – " he begins, but Cecil cuts him off.

"Or vaginal penetration, but that doesn't seem to be relevant, unless you have another orifice I'm not seeing," he says politely. His hand trails up Carlos's thigh and flutters along his dick, a light teasing touch that transmutes quickly as he takes Carlos in hand and begins to stroke, hard and slow. "We're only covered for this. And, uh. Friction."

The way Cecil says the word _friction_ , all harsh k sound and sibilant s, almost makes Carlos want to go for it, just rub off against him and call it a night. But he's suddenly overwhelmed by the ridiculousness of the Night Vale police state, and for once in his life he feels defiant.

"Do it anyway," he says, throwing caution to the wind. "What will they do? How will they know?" He takes Cecil's hand and brings it down between his legs, spreading his thighs to ask for it. For a moment it seems to work; Cecil's fingers slide along his perineum and back, nudging at his hole, and Carlos catches his breath.

"Get inside me," he says, lying back to give Cecil more access. "Do it."

"I – Carlos, I don't – " But his fingers are pressing further, pressing in.

There comes a tapping at the bedroom window, and despite the blinds and curtains and steel bars that cover it Carlos wants to hide, mortified, under the bed.

"Sirs?" Egbert's voice, from outside the window. "Sirs, can I ask you to step outside, please?"

"Oh dear," Cecil breathes, voice low. "Oh dear oh dear. We'd better go, he has tear gas."

"Jesus," Carlos mutters, standing up and trying to find something to cover his nakedness. He grabs Cecil's bathrobe, which is green and orange and fluffy, as Cecil wraps himself in a sheet and they both make for the door.

"I know, last time I had a run-in with the law I was sad for _days_. At least it wasn't the ennui gas, though."

Carlos would make a mental note to investigate that - _emotional warfare?_ except he's wearing a hideous bathrobe over an obvious erection and about to step out onto the porch to talk to the police about anal penetration, so he lets it go. This time he remembers to put on some shoes – they're Cecil's, but they're Crocs and easy to slip on. They try to bite at the carpet and the walls as he walks, but after a couple of steps they settle down. 

Cecil doesn't even bother, just yanks the door open. Carlos notices that the neighbor from earlier is still sitting on her porch. He waves again, this time with resignation. She waves back.

"Outside, please," Egbert says, sounding bored and annoyed. They shuffle out onto the doorstep, Cecil trying not to trip over his bedsheet and failing, for a moment, until Carlos catches his arm. They mostly avoid flashing the entire street and the Secret Policeman.

"Sorry, Egbert, sorry," Cecil says. The bedsheet is doing nothing whatsoever to disguise his hard-on. "I – you know how it is, Carlos is new in town – "

Egbert sighs and rubs his leather balaclava where his forehead would be. Where his forehead probably, almost assuredly, is, Carlos reminds himself. "If you'd like to fill out an anal penetration form, I'll let it slide," he says, a moment later.

"Oh, thank you, Egbert, that really is kind of you. Maybe – " he glances at Carlos, and bites his lip, obviously considering. "Maybe also forms 43E, 96A, 96B – the whole 96 series, actually – oh, and, um, 42A and B, 35, 36, and 37."

Egbert nods and starts pulling forms out of his clipboard. Carlos is dry-mouthed with the desire to ask, and finally he manages it, pressing his side against Cecil's for comfort.

"What are those?" 

Cecil opens his mouth to answer, but Egbert beats him to it. "Form 32A, sign here to be anally penetrated," he says, and as Carlos signs flips the page over "Form 32B, to anally penetrate someone else." Carlos flushes as he signs them, his skin hot and exposed in the cool desert air. Cecil hums equally happily at both forms, and Carlos thinks, well, there's a data point. He thinks about laying Cecil out over a hard surface – his desk in the radio station comes to mind – and taking him slow and easy, listening to Cecil's rich voice as he cries out with the sensation of Carlos's cock inside him.

"There's no way we can do this inside?" Carlos asks hoarsely.

"That would be a violation of privacy," Egbert replies, by rote, not looking up from the forms. A laugh bubbles up inside Carlos's chest, but he manages to keep it from escaping.

While Egbert fills out and stamps those two, Cecil explains the rest. "The 96 series is all . . . mouths." Slowly he moves behind Carlos, pressing himself along Carlos's back, and wraps his arms around him. "It's for fellatio, or in case I want to rim you, or you want to rim me, or we want to, oh, lick each others' boots or suck each others' toes, those sorts of things."

Cecil's a little shorter than he is, so his face is pressed to the back of Carlos's neck, the tip of his nose cold enough to make Carlos shiver. Carlos wants to listen to him say the word _fellatio_ forever. "I like mouths," he says.

"I know," Cecil agrees. His dick is hard, pressed tight and snug against Carlos's ass. Carlos wonders how Cecil knows that. If he's done something to lead Cecil to know that, if Cecil watches him for signs of his sexual preferences. He does tend to chew on his not-pens a lot, so maybe the oral fixation wasn't that hard to pin down.

"Sign here," Egbert says, offering a couple more forms. Carlos signs without looking at them.

"43E is for dirty talk," Cecil purrs from behind him. The terrycloth of the robe is scratchy against Carlos's dick, its touch light and fleeting, a rough tease. His breathing is coming faster as Egbert stamps forms in front of them, and he wishes he could touch himself.

"Is that one for you or for me?" Carlos laughs. 

"Both, of course." Cecil's grin is pressed to Carlos's neck, and his hand rests demurely on Carlos's waist, fingertips just barely brushing below the belt. 

"42A and B, voyeurism and exhibitionism, 35 for general bondage, 36 for bloodletting and blood magic, 37 for direct manual stimulation of internal organs and use of dildos," Egbert says, proffering another set of forms. 

"I just want that one for the dildos," Cecil says, too quickly. Carlos shudders, half nauseated and half turned on, wondering for a fleeting moment what Cecil's liver would feel like against his fingers.

Egbert frowns at Carlos for a moment, then shakes his head. "And I'm going to throw in 42R, to save time."

"42R?" Carlos breathes.

"42R is the form for getting off on filling out the forms," Cecil laughs into his neck.

"It's our most popular form," Egbert sighs. Carlos feels a hot swell of humiliation and desire roll through him, and glances up again to see the neighbor lady across the road. She's giving him a thumbs up. Slightly hysterical, Carlos gives her a thumbs up right back. Cecil rubs slowly against him, his dick hot even through layers of cloth. Egbert holds out another piece of paper for his signature.

Carlos signs, and signs, and signs, and waits while Egbert fills out his notes and stamps his stamps, and the whole time Cecil is pressed hard against him, whispering in his ear, _I can't wait to do all this to you_ and _do you like that one?_ and _sex is so much better with municipal approval, Carlos, you'll see_ , until Carlos is squirming with it, right there on the front step, biting his lip and digging his fingernails into the soft skin of Cecil's forearms.

Then they're at the end of the stack of paperwork, and Carlos wants to go inside and finish what they've started, but – 

"Do you have one for body fluids?" he hears himself ask. Cecil stills behind him.

"53 series," Egbert says, opening his clipboard again. He's really very professional. Carlos suppresses a shiver. "Type of fluid?" 

"Uh. Urine," Carlos says, and then, unable to wait for a sign, tilts his head back to look at Cecil. "We don't – you don't have to, I just thought – " Cecil doesn't speak, but he kisses the nape of Carlos's neck, softly, gently.

"Giving or receiving?" Egbert presses. 

"He wants receiving," Cecil murmurs, and Carlos could slump with relief. 

"Yes," he says.

They sign, breathless, and after a lot of shuffling Egbert hands them a stack of pink carbon copies and wishes them a good evening.

Cecil turns away, leaving Carlos's back cold, suddenly exposed to the air. He watches as Cecil shuffles unsteadily inside, constantly almost tripping over the bedsheet, stepping slowly and carefully over the threshold. 

"Come on, come on, before the ghosts come in," Cecil says, gesturing for Carlos to follow him.

"You have ghosts around here?" Carlos asks, stepping in and closing the door. One of the Crocs latches on to the doorframe for a moment, and Carlos has to yank it free.

Cecil laughs. "No, that's just something my mother used to say. There's no such thing as ghosts, Mr. Scientist."

"No?" Free of the shoes, Carlos wraps his arms around Cecil, pressing up against him, nosing under the line of his jaw and biting at his earlobe.

"No, of course . . . not!" Cecil squeaks as Carlos licks and worries at the area just below his ear.

"And your mother was . . . ?" he grins. He's seen the pictures in Cecil's wallet.

"A lovely lady, and a little bit of a werewolf, and oh, Carlos, can we perhaps go back to the bedroom now?"

Cecil's dropped his sheet, so Carlos undoes the tie of the bathrobe and leaves it in the hallway too, follows Cecil naked and unconcerned into the bedroom.

"Isn't – I mean, isn't it weird that Egbert is watching us?" Carlos asks. What he really means is _shouldn't it be weird_ , because it doesn't feel weird to him, and that seems weird.

"Egbert's always watching. For our safety," Cecil says, laying him down on the bed. "You still want me to fuck you?" He's breathless and bright-eyed, crawling up over Carlos and sliding their bodies together.

"Yeah," Carlos tries, but it comes out as a croak. "Yes, I do." He thinks about Egbert watching them through – what, cameras? Magic? A portable bloodstone circle? – and draws a sharp breath.

"It's okay," Cecil soothes. He produces lube from a nightstand and slides his fingers into Carlos, slow and easy. "We're perfectly legal and correct now. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." 

Carlos wants to laugh again, wants to yell, wants to find Egbert's camera and stare it down. 

"This is all in strict adherence to city by-laws," Cecil purrs, and Carlos kisses him, once rough and showy for the benefit of the Secret Police, because fuck it, and then soft and intimate, just for Cecil, just for being himself.

"Well, thank god we got all the red tape taken care of," Carlos grins. He groans as Cecil starts fucking him, because it's been a while and Cecil's taking him so slow and steady, because it feels amazing, because by tomorrow the whole town will know that they did this. 

"Red tape? I think – we only have general bondage authorization, Carlos – "

Carlos laughs. "It's just an expression. Fuck me harder." He feels dizzy, light and free under the rule of institutional oppression and surveillance. They know him, and Cecil knows him, and there's nothing he could do that would surprise them, or that they wouldn't find out about. He's pinned like a butterfly to a board, laid out on display, and it's as heady and frightening as freefall.

"Oh, _Carlos_ ," Cecil says reverently, speeding up his strokes. "I knew you'd be just . . . as lovely . . . on the inside . . . "

Carlos shudders, wonders again about form 37, wonders how many ways this town will find of taking him apart so painlessly, so gradually that he doesn't even know it's happening.

"Cecil," he pants, trying to come up with something sexy to say but failing because all he can think about is Cecil, is Night Vale, is the utterly perfect awful strangeness of it all. Cecil mouths his nipples, bites at his chest because Cecil knows he likes mouths, fucks him hard because he asked for it, gives him what he needs because he needs it. Carlos touches him helplessly, restlessly: runs his hands through his hair and over his shoulders, scratches his fingernails down his arms, desperate for touch, for acknowledgement.

"What do you want?" Carlos asks, breathless, lifting his hips to meet Cecil on every stroke, closing his eyes involuntarily at the cascade of sensations that rushes through him every time Cecil pushes in, fills him up.

"Just this," Cecil says, "just you," and he doesn't say it but Carlos can hear it behind his words: _all of you_. He shivers, aching and afraid and so very close now.

"Take me," he whispers. "Take me, Cecil, come on – " 

When he comes it's with Cecil inside him, with Cecil's fist wrapped around his cock, with Cecil leaning over him, radiating heat: Cecil touching every part of him, he's sure, internal organs and all. Cecil follows soon after, letting out a long low groan and gripping Carlos's hips hard, too hard, not hard enough. Carlos will have bruises, maybe. If he does, he's sure Cecil will be apologetic, upset, unable to keep himself from touching them.

As they come down together Carlos can't help but notice Cecil's rough breath against his neck, the way his hands seek out Carlos's hands, the way his legs slide and clamber over Carlos's until they're entwined, hot and sticky, almost one organism.

"See? So much better with municipal approval," Cecil hums, and Carlos laughs. He knows that a year ago he would've found the concept strange, even abhorrent, but now it just seems funny, almost charming. He's a different person now than he was a year ago, since he's been observing Night Vale, and more so since he's started to see it through Cecil's eyes. He's a different person now than he was before Cecil fell in love with him, and he wonders if he could measure the change, find something in his body chemistry or on a connectome map of his brain to explain the difference. Maybe it's the chemicals in the water, or maybe this is just what love is supposed to feel like.

"It was," he agrees, wrapping his arms around Cecil's body and kissing the top of his head. "It's nice to know that someone cares."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was conceived on twitter, so thank you to were_duck, toft, and j00j for their help, humour, and great ideas! Although what we originally came up with was a wacky fic about sex permits, and while that story is still in here, it kind of . . . got away from me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Observer Effect [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400204) by [codeswitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codeswitch/pseuds/codeswitch)




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